Sportswriting Means Never Having To Say You're Sorry

Well, despite a week of open bloodlust that would have made Billy Martin drink himself into a quivering coma, Bryan McCabe's return to Toronto went about as well as it could have. After being burned on Florida's second goal, Buffalo's favourite Leaf rebounded with the rest of the team, scoring a goal in a 3-2 win. Fan reaction for McCabe was muted, the smattering of boos directed at McCabe in the first period proving either that Toronto fans aren't sheep easily led by the ink-stained executioners or that the prawn sandwich munching Bay Streeters who make up most of the good seats were still at the honour bar, or something in between. By the end of the game, boos had turned to cheers.

It's enough to make Steve Simmons wax philosophical. Recalling his boyhood hatred of Mike Pelyk, he reminds us, the little people, the poor benighted blue-and-white wearing children, that he was once like us, before he saw the light, before he became Canada's most-read sports columnist, before he learned that if you stick three dots between clauses you don't have to write with any kind of structure....

Where was I? Ah, yes. Simmons has learned. Now, we know what the players make, no wonder we boo them.  It's all about the money. Back when Simmons was a lad, we didn't, so then we ...booed them? What the hell is your point here, Steve?

Anyways, Steve concludes that Bryan is booed mostly because of the contract, partly because the fans are frustrated with the team, and then happily toddles off to finish the Jumble. Does he have a point? Sure. But Steve, you sure you didn't miss anything?

That's the only reason McCabe is being booed?

It has nothing do with this?

I guess we've established that Steve doesn't even read his own paper. Puts him one up on Kim and I, I guess.

There is a better explanation, presented here in an oversimplified version, of how high salaries, and reporting on them, have changed the athlete-media dynamic. Back in the good old days, when kindhearted businessmen like Jim Norris could bust Ted Lindsay down to the minors for daring to talk union, writers and athletes rode the same trains, stayed in the same hotels, drank in the same bars. Players finally getting a fairer share of the wealth they created changed all that. Sportswriters were now distanced from the athletes. Frustrated, the dirt, previously swept under the carpet, made it into the papers. Players, feeling betrayed, shut sportswriters out and a vicious cycle was created, one escalated by the spiraling dollar amounts involved. But thinking about things like this requires self-examination and accountability. It means you don't get to crucify a guy for a week and then wonder where the nails came from.

Oh, and In tribute to the outstanding Sun cover above, I've compiled a list of other front page headlines the Sun can clip n save, and later use depending on who the scapegoat of the week is:

"JASON FAKE"
"ALEXEI PAININTHEASSKY"
"MATT SATAN"
"IAN SHITE"
"DARCY.. actually, you've probably got this one covered.
"CHAD BABYKILLER"
"ANDREW RAYCROFT"

You can make the check out to the usual address.